Imperfect
by addicted-to-my-reflection
Summary: Sometimes it's desire that overwhelms us. Sometimes it's love that kills us. For two people whom I care about deeply.
1. Haiden- Imperfect

_Before I start, I should just like to say that this little fic is dedicated to my lovely, radiant wife. You know who you are, darling. Let this be a representation of our love, as dark as it may be. You're my brilliant sun, and I should like to think I am your faithful moon._

* * *

**_Imperfect_**

* * *

I am a mistake. I am a cruel mistake, an imperfect... inhuman... creature that lives only for worthier souls to die. Despicable, counting the minutes of the day as the hands on the clock pass. Each they grow slower. Each day, I falter a little bit more. And each day, I am reminded of my humanity. My cruel, fragile, worthless life. Something that I am ungrateful of, though I should be indebted to my parents for bringing me into this world, even if I am worthless.

I am not perfect. One might say perfection is an impossibility, but it cannot be. I must be perfect. I must be, so I can accomplish everything, so I can earn wealth, so I can take care of...that person.

Strange, some think, that I cannot refer to her endearingly, yet only as that person. It rips me to pieces. I am not worthy of her, yet I am so ridiculous I cannot go a day without talking to her. Every morning, when I get up, she's there, and when I go to bed, she sits near me, her hands brushing over my skin until I am asleep once more.

I don't understand how such a radiant person could be attracted to something so pathetic, so worthless.

She calls me her King. Though I don't deserve it, she is forever my Queen.

And I will stay here for her.

* * *

The factories of Six are cold, desolate, black with dirt and grime. My hands often stay black for days after sticking them through the machinery. The scars and calloused bumps...the premature arthritis settling in my fingers. At seventeen, I am already so broken.

In the day, I go to school, sitting near the back of a classroom. Sometimes we watch the games there; I must be despicable, for I do get a joy out of seeing those children die. It makes me feel assured that there are worse things than what I have accustomed myself to, than what I settle for. And even though I must work at night and work in the day, there are moments of serenity in between, when I can hear her laugh and see her smile beside me.

I'm not quite sure what I want out of life. I'm not sure why I'm still here.

Paying for my own clothes and education, buying my own food, going home to a depressive mother who wants nothing to do with me while I sit in the dark confines of my windowless room, crushing paper in my hand.

I like to pretend I'm real sometimes. I like to pretend that I'm normal and wanted and that I deserve her.

But I don't.

* * *

I allow myself to say her name, let it flow from my worthless, dirty lips.

_Anthe._

_Anthe Nikkali._

I still don't know why she continues to sit beside me.

Two years since we met. Two years of her verbal abuse at the hands of her parents- her friends- struggling with depression and making it through. Day by day.

I have nothing to show for any toils of my own. I have nothing to show for my efforts- if they are efforts at all. In the span of a day, when I work even twenty four hours, why is it I can never accomplish anything? I am so lost, so frenzied... so _imperfect._

And without perfection, I'm worthless.

She tells me I'm not. She is there with me, passing the days by; slipping me notes in class, waiting for me to come home at night. I don't have problems passing out in her arms, tears falling in torrents until we are both crying, both soaked in our own tears.

Because while I have her, she has only me; why shouldn't she have the world? She's perfect, after all.

* * *

The strain becomes worse, and I am accustomed to less air at all moments, less room to breathe.

I am sitting, head faced downward in the filthy room that we now share, her hand running the damp rag over my face. The black is always there, even when it's not. I fall forward, my arms clutching tightly to her waist as I drown my sorrows in shallow, ragged gasps of breath, and my chest is on fire, as it always is.

I cannot breathe and she forces me onto my back, tells me to control my own thoughts, my own breath, that it will go away. I believe her because she is always right. And as I lie there, grasping her hand in mine, her tears fall onto my own face.

"Why do you cry, darling?"

"The same reason that you cry. Because you feel sorry for yourself."

I can laugh with her at this, because I do. I always do. But she's perfect, and I'm not. I am dull, and listless.

I am as black as the oil that stains my hands from the factory.

* * *

She makes me smile, that day that she promises me an eternity, and I hold her tightly to my chest.

"I love you so much, Anthe."

"I know."

"I don't know what I'd do if you left me. I think I would die. You said for better or worse, in sickness or health, till death do us part... I don't want you to have to deal with my stress fits, I just get so angry sometimes...can't figure out what I'm doing wrong and that makes it even worse...please, I'm just so- so sorry-"

"Haiden, I love you." She says. "Don't ever doubt that."

And for a minute, despite being _imperfect,_ I allow myself to believe that someone wants me.

* * *

The days pass, and it breaks my heart as the roles become reversed, slowly but surely, with every minute the clock ticks away. Anthe has become so fragile, a shadow of her former self. She's been abandoned, and I die when she cries.

"I don't know what to do anymore...I can't...I need something...s-stable. I don't want to be a failure."

"You're perfect, Anthe." I say, brushing her hair back. "How could you ever be a failure?"

"I'm not perfect." And at those words, my heart twitches to life again.

"We're both imperfect, but together...together we are perfect."

* * *

As I lie beside her in the dimly lit room that night, staring at the ceiling, sweat on my brow, her hand clutched tightly in my own, my chest throbs painfully, and I realize that I can breathe with her. She makes me real. She makes me human, and for those brief moments, I can believe that I'm not dead.

I can feel her next to me, arm brushing against my own, and it seems to surreal, I think, as I move her head onto my painfully fragile chest, leaning forward to press a single kiss to her brow.

How did I ever become so blessed? It's so tragic, what I've done to her, and now she is just like me...just like me, and that's why she stays. She can't live without me. And I can't live without her either.

* * *

I drop out of school the year I turn eighteen. I work full time in the mechanics factory, spend my remaining money on finding someplace to board. I'm not letting her go to the orphanage and I'm not living with the people who could care less. As long as I have her, I am happy. I am human.

She's crying that day, when I return, and she never tells me why. I wish I had an eternity to erase her tears. But I'm human, and humans die.

And even though I'm alive again, I will die. The only difference is now it's not desirable. Because I could never leave behind my beautiful, fragile, broken queen.

* * *

"You're the most imperfect perfect person I have ever met," I whisper in her ear one night, as she lies beside me, face buried in the pillow, almost in sleep. Her skin is so pale, like the snow that fell on my birthday, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward into a smile at these words.

"Haiden..." she murmurs, and I give a sad smile at the sound of my name.

"Why do you love me?" I question. "Why would you love something so filthy?"

She never answers.

* * *

We stand at the stairs of the Justice Building in District Six.

It is the last year of reapings I must attend when the escort calls out the name "Haiden Kael", and I fall apart.

I am dragged forward abruptly, my head pressed to my chest, body folded over in pain, the anger in my chest tightening more and more, and I can't breathe, just like I couldn't back then. I can't breathe and it's like dying all over again.

"I volunteer!" Is shouted from somewhere amongst the masses, and the tears stream freely down my face as I begin to scream. And then I'm hitting the peacekeeprs holding me, and they're shouting at me, and Anthe is there, grabbing my shoulders, trying to calm me, and I hit her in the face with my elbow, knocking the reaping bowl off the stage.

I was fixed.

And now they're expecting me to crack again.

And as the needle is jammed into my arm, I'm too broken to resist. I'm too broken because we're both dead now. And she was supposed to live forever. And I was supposed to be her prince, but how could such an _imperfect creature_ save someone so _beautiful?_

_My darling...my love...Anthe, please..._

* * *

Nobody comes to say goodbye to me, and it's not a surprise when they shy away from Anthe as well.

We're crazy, after all.

* * *

I don't fight death anymore when the gong rings. I don't fight it, and I don't allow her to fight it either. I imprint the outline of bloody hands onto her purple neck, screaming into the wind as I do so. And as I scream, I cry, and I laugh, and I feel almost sated, somehow.

And when I drag the knife across my arm, from wrist to elbow, deep rivers of red blooming brightly on the surface of pale skin, I smile, and my good hand finds hers as I bleed out into the sand, arms already numb and dead, chest tight and painful, but I know it won't last any longer.

I'll finally be resting. And so will she.


	2. Anthe- Incomplete

_This oneshot is also dedicated to my love and is the other half of "Imperfect", as implied in the title, hopefully. It is also dedicated to someone I genuinely cared for, despite our short time together. I am glad I met them both._

* * *

**Incomplete**

* * *

It is often that I wonder why bad things happen to the best of people. For, you see, there is not a person I am familiar with that is good who has been lucky enough to have a full and structured life; not my sister, not my love...

I never quite understood what it meant to be happy, not really. For the longest time I have felt empty, half of a whole. Though I cry, I no longer feel it. Though I can laugh, it seems frenzied and distant, even when it escapes my own mouth.

For days, I spend the evenings seated on the ledge of my windowsill, staring out at the darkened streets of District Six, nothing but empty words filling my mind. Failure. Useless. That's what I hear- all I ever hear.

Eroica is there sometimes, sitting beside me, hand on my leg in a gesture of comfort- and it is truly the most comfort I have ever felt. I am at peace with her, my twin sister. Because we aren't simply twins in physical nature, but in mental as well.

And for now, she is all I have, and I treasure every moment we have.

* * *

I detest school; every day we sit there, the teacher rambling on about the Capitol is she is requested to; it is sad, the way we are all so complacent, all so empty here. There is nothing in this room but ignorance and naivete- even my own, though I was never strong enough before to realize it.

I don't know when it was that I became fascinated by the boy with the blistered knuckles and filthy hands, the boy wearing a shirt hanging loosely off his despaired frame, who often stares out the window with a blank look on his face. Eroica tells me she's seen him around; he works at the factory like our cousin and his name is Haiden Kael. He's two years older than myself and her, and nobody else knows anything about him.

I find mysteries fascinating.

As the days pass, I strike up a couple conversations; not enough to know much more than what my sister had already told me, but as days grow into weeks, I start to piece together a past- a broken story, really. And in a way, he reminds me of myself.

The only difference is that he has already broken, while I have remained solid and indifferent to circumstance.

And for that reason alone, I feel drawn to him.

* * *

He's scared to say my name, I realize, even with the two years of history between us, even as I tell him to. Strange, how some people have bent so much under the pressure of others.

Even with my parents, the way they often glared at me, talked down to me in those angered tones, _stupid, mistake,_ I never bent entirely. Words sting, they do, always- and I should know better than anyone. I stay strong for her, my precious sister, who is so often ridiculed by the children our age, and for him, the badly broken boy who says he should never have met me...

"Anthe..." he murmurs softly, shaking his head once. And for once, as my name passes his beautiful lips, I smile.

"There's nothing to be upset for," I press, as he shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth.

"I love you," he says, and my heart jumps from my chest.

I'm not sure how it started, but when he says those three words, I feel like the luckiest person in the world. "You're beautiful," I say. "You're so perfect, Haiden."

"Don't say that," he cries. "Don't you ever say that."

* * *

I begin to drift from my family, words pressing down more forcefully each passing day until the strong mask, the façade I have held for so long, becomes cracked and misplaced. Some days, I'll walk down to the Justice Building with Eroica, talking in hushed voices as not to alert peacekeepers. My darling sister has fallen apart so much- being called stupid and ugly and a waste of space, and it makes me want to kill. I would kill for her.

And she would do the same for me.

Eroica dislikes how close I am getting with Haiden- he's too much older, thinks he's special because of his problems- and I have to disagree with her, for once. She tells me what he said, that day, the day he got so angry he stormed out of school, snapping at her as he ran past. I can't blame her; I could never blame her for feeling how she does, but she doesn't understand that what we have...what we have is perfect.

I need her, but I need him too, and they're both broken, and I don't know who to fix. And how can I even fix anyone, when I can't even fix myself?

* * *

I force Haiden down onto his back as he starts to cry, grasping at his chest, and I know that he's having a fit again. The pains are too frequent, almost the same as my headaches, and I don't know what to say to make him stop, and it scares me when he gets like this, almost as though he'll die and be ripped from my grasp completely. I'm murmuring words, but even I can't make out what they are, and he's coughing, and wheezing, and gasping for breath, and then he grabs my hand. Tears begin to fall from my eyes, landing on the side of his cheek, and he gasps out, "Why do you cry, darling?"

And, unknowing of what to say, I reply with the only thing I can think of, "Because you feel sorry for yourself."

He laughs, hoarse, and before I know it, I'm laughing too. I need him, this handsome, perfect boy, and I start to feel like he might need me- might even want me- too.

* * *

I barely force the words past my lips, those three, soft little words, and he's pulling me into his grasp, holding me so tightly to his fragile body, and I don't even care that he still is cold, that his hands are black with oil and grime, because in entirety, I could spend eternity like this.

Because I'm wanted.

"I love you so much, Anthe," he says, crying, and I feel tears slip from my own eyes as I reply.

"I know."

"I don't know what I'd do if you ever left me...you said for better or worse, in sickness or health...I don't want you to deal with my rage fits. I just get so angry sometimes...can't figure out what I'm doing wrong and that makes it even worse...I'm s-sorry, just please-"

"Haiden," I say, "I love you. Don't ever doubt that."

"I love you more than you know, darling."

And for those brief few seconds, I can trust that somebody does love me. I can trust that somebody won't hurt me- not anymore.

* * *

I find myself crying more and more, reduced to tears, running from my house to escape those haunting, terrible words. _Failure. Failure. Failure._

That day when Haiden returns from work, I throw myself against him, crying into the rough fabric of his shirt. "I can't-I don't know what to do anymore...I can't...I need something ...s-stable...I don't want- to be a failure, just please-"

"You're perfect, Anthe," he says, holding my shoulders, looking at me evenly. "How could you ever be a failure?"

There are so many things...I'm not pretty, not smart, not hard-working or motivated like Eroica, not gifted or talented in anything, I even beat myself up over words. I'm fragile, and there's nothing- I'm nothing, and, "I'm not perfect," I say.

He pulls me into an embrace again and murmurs against my ear, "We're both imperfect, but together...together we are perfect."

Maybe we are...

* * *

He's dropped out of school, come his eighteenth birthday, and I stay, worried for my sister, worried for my future, my broken family...I couldn't stand a broken heart either. The teacher wants to send me to the orphanage; at fifteen, I am so lost, distant from my family. She asks about my sister and I burst into tears at the thought of her- I'm nothing for her to look up to, not anymore.

I needed Eroica. I miss her.

But right now, I need Haiden, too.

I am happy now. Happy as someone as foolish as me could possibly be, after being broken so many times. I am happy, though we are co-dependent, and I am happy, because we'll be living together soon, and-

"You're fifteen, Anthe." The teacher says. "Keep that in mind."

* * *

"You're the most perfect imperfect person I have ever met," Haiden whispers in my ear as we sleep in the grungy, darkened, single room tenement together. His hand brushes the skin of my arm, and I almost- almost allow myself to smile.

"Haiden..." I murmur, unsure of what to say, as he leans in closer to me.

"Why do you love me?" He asks. "How could you love something so filthy?"

I'm certain he doesn't hear it when I respond that he's beautiful.

* * *

On reaping day, I see him standing on that stage, so composed, yet so lost, and I know what I am fated for. He needs me, and I need him more than I need the rest of this district.

"I volunteer!" I should, running forth before the escort has a chance to draw the female slip, and at this, as I meet gazes with my husband, I see shock, fear...and betrayal in his eyes. He hits the peacekeeper tolding him, thrashing around in the grasp of the other as he knocks over the microphone, and I'm there in an instant, my hands on his arms, talking to him, uselessly. I cry out when his elbow hits me in the nose, falling backwards as he throws himself at the escort, knocking the reaping ball off the stage, being restrained, sedated, wordlessly save for a hiss.

And I cry then. I cry for all the times I haven't, for all the times I've been there, for Haiden, for Eroica, for myself.

* * *

My sister comes to say goodbye to me, tears in her eyes, and I know she wants to yell at me, to breakdown and ask why, but she never does. She kisses me, hugs me, and says, "You'll always be my sister. And I will always love you, even through what you chose to do today...if he means that much to you...then I will let you go. Because I wished you every happiness."

I know she means every word of it.

And as she presses a silver key into my hand, I hold onto it like a lifeline until she is walked from the room.

* * *

He catches up to me in the bloodbath and I am silenced almost immediately by his hands over my neck, forcing the air from my lungs, draining all color from my face. He's crying as he does it, apologizing over and over, and I am barely breathing when my vision starts to darken and my hand goes slack. The last thing I am able to hear is the sound of a knife cutting through skin, and the last thing I feel is his hand in mine.

I don't know whose cannon rings first.

But what I do know is in whatever comes next, he'll be there waiting for me.


	3. Eroica- Inadequate

_The third character POV in Imperfect; for someone who I hope is reading._

* * *

**Inadequate**

* * *

Since I can remember it's been me and her. Me and my big sister, Anthe. Us against the world. I'd always admired her and I'd never thought she could leave; to me she was the world, and to her- well, we were inseparable. So why is this world so cruel?

Our parents have never treated Anthe well; always yelling at her, insulting her...I was never so unfortunate. Not at home, at least. The quiet, smart girl- the one who worked hard and dreamed always. The one Anthe was always protecting; I guess I just couldn't see things for how they were until she had already left me.

Eroica Nikkali is a nobody. She's a waste of space. Pathetic. A crier.

I never dreamed that I could escape that...not until I saw her escape it herself. And by that point it was too late. My world was already unraveling.

* * *

I am isolated. In school, I sit in a corner, hiding from everyone, hoping they'll overlook me. I like to read. Sometimes I feel like if I were to bury my head far enough into a book I'd end up in the world they were describing; a world far better than the cruel one I'm in, the one where I am useless and unwanted.

Kids can be so cruel, and I know this, so why do I fall for it? Why have I always fallen for it?

"Loser."

"Freak."

"Nerd."

"Ugly."

"Twig."

"Why don't you just go die?"

I can't help it if I let their words get to me. I can't help it that I'm the only one who feels like this. Why do they jeer at me? Why is it always me? I've never done anything!

And I can't do anything for myself.

I punched him, that day. In the nose, hoping to break it. I wasn't fazed at the sight of the blood, more at the revelation that I'd actually done it. I'm not weak-

-but they continue nonetheless, and nothing changes.

Nothing ever changes.

* * *

The screaming grows worse in the house every day and I can hardly stand it. Sometimes I find myself running to the train yards, just for some space, just to get away from it all. I'm out of breath, shaking...filled with turmoil...and boiling rage.

I can't do this.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to go through life as trash; unwanted, useless trash.

I crouch, dropping my head between my knees before pulling it up again, feeling the lightheadedness start to slip away again, but my breath still is sharp, still sounds in my ears, still is too loud and overbearing for me to focus.

They never understood either of us and they don't even understand themselves. What happened to the time when we could be happy? What happened to the time we were a family?

_What happened to Anthe and me?_

I don't know how to face a world alone; I'm scared. Scared of my family, my classmates, the Games, the District...and myself.

I am so scared of myself, of being alone in this world.

But I'm going to have to face it. I'm going to have to face it.

* * *

I hide in the hallways during the school day; there's a closet, looked to be a place for storing old records once upon a time. Now it is my haven. The bullies don't know, the teachers don't know...it's mine. It's a place I can call mine, the one place I still have left to find refuge. And for years there has been no refuge, no escape from the brewing storms of the district.

Sometimes I'll sleep in there, when I can't find it in me to go home again, when I can't find it in me to think about family. Other times I just sit, facing the ugly white wall, peeling paint, and I wonder how it ended up this way, how I ever became this person. Why did I change? What is the meaning of my existence?

_Who am I? Why am I here? What purpose do I serve?_

_Nobody. No reason. Nothing. _The answers sound through my ears_._

And I yell.

* * *

I am in the hallways on the day that he's running through. He shoves me aside, and I know that look in his eyes.

"Haiden-" I say, wanting to ask about my sister, but he pushes me away, growling.

"Shut the fuck up." He shoves me against the wall. "You think you don't worry her? Don't worry everyone? You think that you can just blame other people for your problems and get away with it? You think that you're the only one with a story? Huh?!" He slams his hand against the wall next to my head, then again, and I instinctively flinch away, but there's nowhere to run. And then- "I'm sorry." He says. "I'm sorry, Eroica. I- I'm just going to get lost now. You don't have to do anything. Tell your sister, I don't care anymore."

* * *

I don't know how it escaped my notice that she was falling apart. My strong, beautiful sister was crumbling right beside me, and I had nobody else to blame. Nobody else could even be at fault; she hasn't been around home, quit walking me to school.

She tells me that she's going to live with him soon, and I snap.

"He's too much older, Anthe! You're fifteen! And you have to stop feeling sorry for him- that's what it is right? You feel bad for him...just because he has problems. He thinks he can have those fits Calden says he has at the factory and everyone will just feel bad for him? You can't play into that, Anthe! Come home. Please." I feel my shoulders shaking, tears running down my cheeks. "I need you, Anthe, please."

She pulls me close to her, hugs me tightly, and I feel safe in her embrace, as I have since we were kids.

"I can't leave him, Eroica."

"W-why?" I cry. "Why can't you come back home? I miss you so much, Anthe."

"...I miss you too, Eri." she says, and my lips turn up a bit at the sound of my nickname.

"Promise me you'll be safe."

"I will."

* * *

I can't help the words that threaten to escape my lips when I hear about him, or them together. I can't help the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes when I realize that my only precious person has been taken away. And I'm alone.

I'm finally, truly, entirely alone. And there's nothing that would have stopped this.

I scream- I scream and let out every emotion I've ever felt, everything I've ever lost or didn't realize falls from my mouth, every hope and dream, every despair and loss- all of it flies from my mouth then, and I fall to my knees, a sobbing mess.

I don't know why.

I'll never know why.

* * *

It's the first reaping day I've spent without my sister. The first reaping day where there's been nobody to worry about me but myself, and I feel a jolt at the thought of being reaped- I can't tell if it's from fear or from adrenaline. Not now.

I can't help the pit of dread that's growing in my stomach, and everything comes to fruition when they draw the first name.

"Haiden Kael."

And I don't know what to feel, not anymore.

He's composed, despite the light, hiccupping sobs coming from his throat. And for a moment, I almost feel glad. Restored. I want to laugh- until I hear a shout.

"I volunteer!"

Like that, my world, the fragile one I've been rebuilding to save myself, crumbles to the ground, and I weep. The kids around my are staring and I can't bring myself to care. I want to run after her, want to volunteer myself, want to scream in rage, all the rage I've ever felt. But I can't because I'm empty. And when she's gone I'll be even more empty.

Will I ever see my sister again?

Will I ever be myself again?

* * *

I give her the key to my storeroom at school, a few words and a kiss and a hug.

And then she is gone, along with the part of me that was still intact.

* * *

They've forced us to watch the Games every year, and this time, almost immediately I am on my feet screaming in outrage.

She's dead. My sister, the strong, beautiful girl I've always admired, my best friend, everything that was light in my world...and she's dead. And I'm dead.

And he killed her.

And then he's slitting his own wrists and I don't feel anything, because she had a chance. She could have made it home, but he- he was selfish- he couldn't admit that he was...and he killed her and now I have nobody! I have nothing!

I am nothing.

She died, and I screamed. He died, and I felt nothing. She was so strong...and he killed her. He _murdered_ her.

And he murdered me too.


	4. Carelle- Uncertain

_So if you haven't figured it out, this has sort of turned into a free-for-all story for my friends, two in particular, so I'm not quite sure how long it will be._

* * *

**Uncertain**

* * *

I didn't know what it was like to be safe, to have any type of life outside of working, my hands forced to scrub the windows, my feet in pain from standing hours on end. He didn't either, and I suppose that's why everything happened as it did. I suppose that's why I've always been the outsider, the one that was unwanted, overworked and broken. We broke together.

We broke together and we broke apart, then. And breaking always takes a toll on everyone.

My mother hasn't been right since my father left her. And when I was taken away, she broke as well. I never loved my father; I barely knew him. For so long, it was me and my step-mother; the woman who ruined my mother, whom had been having an affair with my father since before I was born; and then there was Haiden. My half-brother, the one I never expected and the only one who gave a shit.

So why doesn't he care now? All I see anymore is his retreating back, hunched over from the weight he carries each day. And all he sees of me are my burned feet, broken toenails and rips in the skin.

I don't care anymore either. Not now.

And either way, I have Sadie.

* * *

Sadie and I met in the back of one of the dull history classrooms, courtesy of the Capitol. I knew her mostly because of Anthe- they were cousins, and Sadie was about the same age as me, so one day I tapped her on the shoulder and here we are.

It's not like we're particularly close, outside of age, gender and a couple common interests, but she's always ignored, and I'm always stressed and so why not?

Sadie comes from a world of 'why nots'. She says questioning life makes everything better. She also has a thing for drawing little faces on the notes she passes me in class. I feel bad when I touch the blank paper, the dirt from my thumbs smearing on the edges.

She laughs a lot too. Especially when she talks about her cousins. I admit that I've never actually met Anthe, which she finds odd because "she's with your brother, isn't she?" and I reply "he's not my brother." and she says "well Anthe's not really my cousin, either." and that's when I admit it.

"Haiden's my best friend. We're not even real siblings, but he acts like it. He's my best friend." And I nod. Saying it out loud makes a lot of change, I suppose.

"Ahh, I see." she says. "Be my friend too?"

Did she just say she wanted to be my friend? _Me_, with the dirty hands and the maimed feet?

"Can I?" I ask.

* * *

I grow to like my classmates, despite most of the boys being pigheaded and the girls being stuck-up. I like the books. I like speculating on what the Capitol's trying to keep hidden from us. But most of all, I like the drawings Sadie leaves on the side of my paper and the way she whispers in my ear and makes me laugh. Is this what it's like to have a real friend?

* * *

Haiden disappears a lot more nowadays, but there's one day when he's there, trying to talk to his mother, and I run over to him, a small cry escaping my mouth. He's grown a bit, though he's still got a tiny form for a boy of seventeen.

Not as tiny as me, though. But he says I have time; I'm only thirteen anyway.

He drags me into his room, like back when we were younger, and we push two chairs together and drape the filthy sheets of his bed over them, and sit there, like children all over again. And he laughs for no reason, and I smile a dumb little smile, and even though we're breaking, we can pretend.

We can pretend to be children.

I sleep in the fort with him that night. And in the morning, when I wake, he's gone, but there is a tiny, stuffed bunny sitting on the floor, horrible sewing holding it together and beads for eyes. I can tell it was made from Haiden's socks and I laugh.

I'll make him one too, a better one.

* * *

Haiden's crying one day when I find him at home, talking in hushed tones with our mother. I don't pick out much of what he's saying, especially since he snaps at me when I try to get close.

And then I hear him say dead.

"Who's dead?" I ask, calmly, and this time he doesn't scream.

"Zaire," he says. "Zaire's dead. The peacekeepers...killed him."

"Who's Zaire?" I pry, but receive only a couple words in response.

"Someone wise...who I loved very much."

* * *

Another year passes and at fourteen, I'm constantly changing. My hair grows longer and I manage to afford some glasses for my bad eyesight. They're a bit cracked but it's better than seeing without them. Haiden's making plans, ever since he met Anthe. He wants to take me with him when he leaves. And I want to go.

Dad thinks differently. He's a drunken mess that night, and I see more of him than I've seen in months. The now scraggly beard and greying hair, wire-rimmed glasses sitting oddly on his nose. He's screaming at us. We can't leave him, we're his children, he raised us, we're ungrateful, life would have been better if we actually worked...

The funny thing is we work more than he does.

* * *

I leave one day to go to the train yard. I like to walk on top of the boxes set up for cargo, feel the wind in my hair. I'm still a kid, so I can have this fun, unlike other people. I'm laughing, enjoying myself, and it's nice to be free, free for the first time in months. Soon it'll be my birthday and I'll get to leave. Soon it'll be my birthday and I'll be happy.

I'm practically leaping from one crate to the next, stopped by a startled yell of one of the factory-workers.

"Girl, you'll near kill yourself if ya fall!"

"I won't fall!" I call back with a laugh, but I don't decline the help when he gets me down.

He walks with me, then, into the back room, and gives me a cup of coffee, though I'm "probably energized enough." I laugh and I ask him about what it's like to work in the factory. He says his hands hurt. I ask him if he knows me brother, but he doesn't. He does tell me to come back. I don't think he gets out much.

* * *

I bump into her in the hallway a week before the reaping, her long, dark hair a mess and her clothes rumpled. She's rushing out of a closet that I've never noticed before. I eye her up with a smile.

"Eroica?"

"How did you know?" She asks, stammering.

"I know your cousin." I say. "Sadie."

"Oh..." a pause. "Have you seen my sister?"

"No..." I say. "Sorry..."

"It's...alright."

* * *

I don't see much of anyone anymore. The man at the factory switched shifts, Haiden has Anthe, and even if he was around, his fits are getting worse than ever. Sadie's too worried about her cousin and her other, closer friends, to do anything.

And I feel lonely. I feel hurt and empty. Because even though I'm broken, I've been filling the void with chatter, laughter, _words_.

And now there aren't any words to say and I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to feel. And I don't think anyone else does either.

* * *

I screamed at the reaping; loud, ear-splitting screams, scattering the rest of the kids in the fourteen section. A peacekeeper comes over, tries to get me to shut up, but I can't shut up.

I want my brother. I want my best friend. I want to be full.

I want my proper-looking feet back and I want my hands to be clean. I want Sadie to pass me notes in class and Haiden to make blanket-forts with me. I want my dad to stop drinking and Haiden's mother to be a real mother.

I want to quit working and I want to live life.

I want the world, and I have only dreams to live for.

* * *

The next reapings are colder than the last, colder even than the day my brother died in the bloodbath, taking Anthe with him. I wept when I saw the blood, but I weep more now as I speak those two words: _"I volunteer."_

Today is my fifteenth birthday.

And I, Carelle Kael, volunteered for the Hunger Games.

I volunteer because it's easier than staying.

_I volunteer because I want my world back._


End file.
